


Blessed by the Gods

by inb4invert, SweetSorcery



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece, Alternate Universe - Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Anal Sex, Ancient Greece, Blow Jobs, Bottom Credence Barebone, Curiosity, Don’t copy to another site, Elemental Magic, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Forests, Hand Jobs, Healing, Hoplite Original Percival Graves, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Virginity, Love at First Sight, M/M, Male Nymphs have Special Anatomy, Male Slash, Mythology References, Nymph Credence Barebone, Nymphs & Dryads, Pagan Gods, Paganism, Romance, Self-Lubrication, Slash, Soldiers, Somnophilia, Top Original Percival Graves, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 16:04:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20011045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inb4invert/pseuds/inb4invert, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetSorcery/pseuds/SweetSorcery
Summary: Ancient Greece. A nymph finds and heals a wounded hoplite soldier and decides to keep him for himself. For this is no ordinary man, and their encounter is a blessing for them both.





	Blessed by the Gods

**Author's Note:**

>   
> 

It was near the warmth of midday when Chremetes found the hoplite bleeding on his bank. 

As was his daily custom, he'd risen from the talkative hurry of his sacred stream intending only to sit a while--perhaps to hear a passing secret in the rustling of the leaves, or to bring a bit of sun into the coolness of the water on returning. 

Instead, he'd come upon the _man_ , prone and battle worn in the dappled light of the forest floor. The once-burnished bronze of his armour clung dull and dented, smeared with the mud and gore of human warfare, the grass beneath him glistening nearly red. 

Seeing him, Chremetes crept cautiously near, caught betwixt his curiosity and the memory of each dire warning he'd ever been told against dealings with men. But greater than either--and the force destined to win out--was the gentle concern he felt at the sound of the soldier's first pained moan. Kneeling at his side in the blood-stained grass, Chremetes lifted the plumed helmet away… and softly gasped. 

For the hoplite was beautiful, no less breathtaking than any God of high Olympus. Dark and heavy brows drew together, twisted and troubled in the throes of his suffering, and only this was enough to prove that the man was truly mortal. If not for the blood now spreading slick and poppy-bright against Chremetes' own skin, he would have sworn on the waters of his very stream that such a noble face could belong only to a son of Zeus. 

Whether mortal or fallen from the mount itself, neither made any difference in the end. He was beautiful and strong, and Chremetes' heart had already claimed him for its prize. He would heal this brave warrior and keep him close, giving him cause to never leave. 

With the helmet in his hands, he dipped it as a chalice in the stream, blessing and imbuing the water collected there with all the power he contained. Carefully, he then poured it over the soldier's wounds to wash away the blood and filth, smiling to see the lacerations close as though Chronos himself had reversed the hours. Chremetes paused in this task only once--just long enough to unbuckle the heavy breastplate and battered greaves, setting them aside along the grass. The undyed chiton underneath was torn and bloodied all through and so he pulled the tattered linen away as well, murmuring soft words of appreciation as he went. 

He had never been so near to a man before, certainly never close enough to _touch_. As he bathed the injured hoplite, he let his hands wander, caressing each curve and plane of tanned muscle newly healed by the water's gift. It was nearly unthinkable that Prometheus had made such beings of nothing more than crude earth, when the supple artistry of the form beneath his palms could excite him with such surprising urgency. 

Many times, Chremetes had thrilled to take part in the chase, leaping through the trees and over the bubbling springs, always with each furtive glance behind revealing just how near the satyrs were to having him. They never caught him--not once--he was always too nimble, too quick as water. But the soldier filled him with an ache altogether unknown; he wouldn't run, unless it was _towards_ him. He'd let the man catch him in his arms, let him hold and _take_. 

Chremetes moaned quietly at the thought and the man let out a tender whimper in return, as though, even insensate as he was, he felt it too. 

He leaned back on his heels for a moment simply admiring the hoplite, now stripped of his weapons and tunic--all needless trappings of mortal men. His chest rose and fell with easy breath, a slight frown creasing his brow as if in dream. Finally, Chremetes unlaced his sandals and moved them away, circling the delicate bones of the man's ankles and smoothing the pads of his thumbs along each sensitive arch. The soldier groaned at the brush of Chremetes' hands against his overheated soles, his manhood beginning to rouse and thicken. Chremetes sighed, smiling again to see how far the waters had shifted his mortal love, easing him away from pain and quickly into pleasure. He much preferred the man this way, determining at once to soothe and comfort him with touch, bringing sweetness to his dreams. And it was no hardship, with his own arousal steadily building at no more than the sight of his unnamed treasure. 

Reclining himself between the soldier's legs, Chremetes trailed fingertips and kisses light as Zephyr's touch along the golden thighs, delighting at how the flesh trembled. The sound of the man's breathy, moaning sighs was sweeter than music, better even than the wind in the trees he'd first risen to hear. He licked and nipped at the tender juncture of groin and thigh; instantly, the man fisted at the damp grass, hips twitching impatiently up into the gentle teasing. The hoplite _wanted_ him, craved the exquisite relief of his lip's embrace, his ruddy length now hard and straining tall in the caress of the breeze. 

Chremetes groaned back in shared appetite, eyes wide and wondering to see a shining drop of fluid form and quickly spill down the shaft's eager stretch. He caught it on his tongue, humming low at the bitter salt of it and the thirst it gave rise to. Still deep in healing slumber, the soldier nonetheless cried out softly, brows drawing tight and close. Chremetes dipped his head and licked again, sucking wet and hungry kisses against the silken firmness--relishing the heat, the decadent _slide_ of mouth to member. He yearned to have the man inside him, to feel the sweet _give_ of his own yielding, imagining how he might part open to every conquering thrust and undulate like rippling water. Just then, a soft, melting wetness bloomed somewhere deep within him, a readiness called into being by the force of his sudden longing. As he moaned and suckled at the swollen head, desperate simply to _receive_ , he felt the touch of fingers twining through the silk of his curls. 

That welcoming caress alone was enough to have him quaking, overcome with the desire to lay himself in the soldier's strong arms, pressed hip to shoulder and twined as mating serpents. Abandoning his ministrations, Chremetes raised his head, then stretched himself along the man's prone body. Without pause the hoplite encircled him in a warm embrace as he murmured sweet sighs of invitation against his hair, the sounds of which brought Chremetes near to weeping with the goodness of it. What joy this mortal was! To think he'd gone so long never knowing that delicious madness strong enough to call the Gods to earth time and time again--the siren song of flesh-bound love. Even in the depths of dream, Chremetes felt that the man _knew_ him, knew the rightness of their passionate union. 

Tenderly, he traced his fingers over the stern brows, nuzzling at his temple where the dark hair was curiously threaded through with strands of silver. His hand grazed the edges of the soldier's stubbled jaw, cut as though shaped skillfully beneath a sculptor's chisel. Chremetes was taken with an exhilaration, feeling the warmth and life of the man so close against him--and beneath that, a sweet melancholy moved him, knowing the brevity of that life. The water was bound to extend his years greatly, but even still…. Chremetes vowed then to love the hoplite fervently and _often_ , to bring him such joy the afterworld would pale in comparison, when it finally came. 

With his fingertips drawing slow circles through the hair curling at the soldier's breast, Chremetes couldn't help but softly rut against the angled hip now clamped between his own thighs. He shuddered in the heat of his lust, never having known such _want_. And still, the man moved with him as though spellbound, thrusting with increasing vigor at the open air before Chremetes took mercy enough to aid him with a comforting grip. 

He moaned, wanton and aching, into the sweat-sheened valley of the hoplite's shoulder, tasting the salt of his skin. The man was beautiful--impossibly so--hard and pushing slippery slick through Chremetes' fist over and over until he feared he himself might spill, his longing was so great. 

Suddenly, just as he was certain it was all too much, the man's eyes snapped open to meet his. They were dark as his own, rich as freshly turned earth and the spark of perplexity he saw there passed away instantly in favour of wonder. Chremetes stilled, hand frozen at its work just as he heard the hoplite breathe "Elysium," in a tone of awe. "By Zeus, I have been deemed worthy..." 

Chremetes couldn't help but smile, shy and pleased to think his lover should find him so lovely. Truly, he would make of himself a reward, for his soldier's bravery and even more--for his _loveliness_. "No, my love," he laughed softly, "you haven't died. Only very nearly so, here on the banks of my stream before I found and healed you." 

The man frowned, reaching a hand to lightly cup Chremetes' face, running the pad of his thumb against his lip, plush and glistening. "But how can you be real?" he asked. "Surely I must have dreamed you into being, if not in dying, then by the power of my soul's deepest yearning." 

"Ohhh.." Chremetes sighed. "Might we have dreamed each other, then? I've wanted for nothing all my days before my eyes found your face." 

"Sweet creature," said the hoplite, rising on one bent arm and trembling with a stifled groan at the slide of himself against Chremetes' gentle clutch. "Then please, know you shall want for nothing yet again. Let me wake this way each morning of my life, and Hades _take_ Elysium, for I have no use of any place outside your arms."

Tenderly, he pressed his lips to Chremetes', only to have the stunned deity cleave and whimper in longing relief, weak and malleable as water.

'How can he not be one of the gods,' thought Chremetes, dizzied with the intensity of the other's want, easily equal to his own. 'His kiss may well be as healing as the waters of my stream.' There, he ceased to think at all, for the other accommodated his weakened arm by sinking back into the grass, his stronger arm firm around Chremetes as he drew him down. Made powerless by that very strength, and the prospect of the whole form regaining it upon healing fully, Chremetes could do nought but give himself up to the kiss, his body melting into the soldier's, only one part of him as firm as its counterpart.

The groans they shared held all the ecstasy of the divine and all the baseness of the earthly--a fitting music to accompany their desperate rutting; as were the gasped words escaping wet, hungry lips between kisses.

"Your skin rivals the finest silk." The hoplite caressed the curve of the long spine, which arched in delight.

"Thank Zeus for having placed you in my domain!" The nymph showered his gratitude upon the soldier, rather than the distant Olympian, with kisses sweet enough to drive the man quite mad, and touches which thrilled him into groans of ecstasy.

"No enemy could ever weaken me as you do, nor make me as eager for his surrender."

"Were I your enemy," Chremetes whispered into the shell of the soldier's ear, "I would surrender to you willingly."

The hoplite, growing stronger by the moment and better able to raise his wounded arm, enclosed the slender form more tightly yet. "You could never be my enemy, only my conqueror. My sword is yours."

Chremetes, though thinking it was the man who was _his_ conqueror, whimpered acceptance against the damp neck, undulating like a sea serpent against skin glistening damply with drops of healing water mingled now with streaks of their lustful secretions.

With a grunt of effort, and a brief wince, the hoplite fought against the last remnants of pain in his body, determined to succumb to pleasure instead. He turned them in the grass, so it was he who pressed the other into its verdant softness. He took a moment to gaze into the dark pools of the nymph's eyes and feel how each sensation altered with this change of position.

"You are fully healed!" the sweet creature gasped, moaning softly when the hoplite settled perfectly between his thighs.

Smiling, the man teased, "Shall I prove to you how well you have healed me?"

"Oh, please," the nymph sobbed.

The hoplite's smile grew less triumphant and more fond, soft with a longing to see his divine lover succumb to pleasures greater than even his own kin could bring him. He kissed the long, pale neck, then moved lower with the encouragement of a sweet gasp. Each inch of perfect skin his lips touched seemed to respond with increased warmth, as though the nymph's sensuality was fully wakened only now, at _his_ touch and his kisses, for the first time.

"How sensitive you are," he praised, caressing tenderly while kissing with a hunger which grew more ravenous as he approached his beautiful prize--flushed and glistening with silvery-white streaks. He grasped it tenderly, enjoying the grateful moan he received, and stroked from the bulbous, leaking tip to the nest of dark curls framing the base.

"Oh, my love..." the nymph sighed, face contorted in ecstasy when the hand was joined by a warm mouth, drinking his fluids as quickly as they pearled forth from the rosy slit. He shuddered and twitched, one hand clutching at dark hair, one at a tuft of grass above his head, while his hoplite drank of him hungrily. His fluids seeped from him in two places and, when a hand ventured below him, the hoplite discovered this, and looked up at him in wonder.

Chremetes whined a soft protest when he slid from the warm mouth, but was soothed at once by the tenderness of the other's gaze and the exploring hand beneath him.

"This is unexpected indeed," the hoplite told him, breathing hard, "but most convenient." He tilted his head to assess more closely the space between the nymph's tempting thighs, and found the grass, and the pale skin, wet with milky slickness. He leaned in curiously to observe, then swiped his tongue across the leaking opening.

"Ahh!" Chremetes' grip in his hair tightened as he arched, the flow increasing with his excitement. "Please... _please_!"

The pleading, taste, and inviting wetness were too much for the hoplite then, and he slid up the long, graceful form once more. "I must have you, my beautiful star."

"Yes," Chremetes sighed, then gasped when the hoplite's sword slid, with perfect ease, into the sheath he provided. His firm thighs clasped the man's hips tightly.

The soldier moaned deep, jaw dropping open in something near to shock at the absolute ecstasy he found there in the hot clench of the nymph's writhing body. Hearing Chremetes' lustful, eager cries, he drove deep--chasing that sweet music as needfully as he sought his own pleasure. 

"Sweeter than death or dream," the hoplite breathed out, tenderly framing Chremetes' jaw in a blood-stained palm even as he speared deep. "I've sought one such as you all my life, it seems." 

Chremetes merely arched his back and crooned, fighting to hold the soldier's gaze despite the agonising pleasure that bade him clench his eyes to blot out all other sense. Never before had he even been touched, by any being, no less a _man_ , and he said as much in the throes of his ardor.

The man ran his palms admiringly along the planes of the nymph's smooth body to take his hips in a firm grip. "Then you truly were made for me," he gasped, "it must be so." 

"Yes!" Chremetes cried out in joy to hear that the hoplite understood. He writhed beneath him, torn between grasping to pull him closer and simply giving himself over to being mercilessly plundered. 

Sensing his conflict, the soldier gathered the nymph up into his embrace and turned them again, laying himself out over the grass to be ridden. Strong hands still held Chremetes in place where he wriggled atop the man, head thrown back. _Never_ would the satyrs have allowed him this, he thought, and he braced himself against the hoplite's broad chest with both hands, driving towards his first sweet release. 

"Ohhh take of me, nymph," the man groaned, lifting them both nearly off the ground in the arching of his back. "Take your pleasure, I'm yours."

“You are,” Chremetes breathed, “oh, you are!” He countered the man’s thrusts with a sweet, instinctive _knowing_ how to work these unfamiliar delights. Each motion tipped them both between the intensity of the deepest possible penetration and the near heartbreak of a temporary withdrawal--with only the flushed, swollen tip remaining inside to tease at the nymph’s rim.

The soldier’s deep, rumbling moans grew more frequent, each fanning a fire deep within Chremetes’ being. His juices flowed freely from his body, over the man’s shaft and into the framing curls. The slick sounds of their coupling only spurred them both on to move with more fervour, their hands grasping at any part of the other they could reach.

Chremetes stretched back, clutching the soldier’s straining thighs and all but whimpering at the new maddening torment of a spot deep inside him. His throbbing, dripping length was grasped one-handed, while the man’s continued hold on his hip kept him seated.

“By all the gods, you are miraculous!” the man gasped out, his face contorted with pleasure. “Let me love you, and make my home inside you, all the days left to me, I beg of you.”

“Please… oh _please_. I am yours and yours alone!” Chremetes’ body clenched around his treasure just as his heart had seized the man’s to hold it safe forever. He cried out in ecstasy when he felt the hot gush of the other’s seed deep within him, letting it trigger his own release. He watched in awe as the man directed his seed to arc across his own chest and neck, even as high up as his stubbled jaw.

Shuddering through their long, wondrous climax left them both weakened, and Chremetes climbed slowly from his softening perch and pressed into the man’s embrace with a sweet, joyful laugh.

Fingers combed through his hair, and tender lips sought and found his temple. “To think, I had to tempt death to hold love in my arms.”

“Never stray far from my arms again, I beg of you,” Chremetes whispered. He leaned up to meet the other’s eyes, breathless at the adoration he found in their warm depths. “I could not bear it, were I to turn to you for a kiss and not find you there.”

The man smiled and caressed a velvet cheek. “I shall be as your shadow, my beloved, worshipping your footprints and the scent of your hair on the breeze.”

“I love you,” Chremetes breathed, pressing into the touch, “more than the gods love Mount Olympus.”

He sighed in receiving the soldier's answering vows of love. Let the satyrs lurk and glower in their envy; Chremetes had found the only one he would never flee.


End file.
